


lost in my head

by YesIsAWorld



Category: Harry Styles (Musician), Louis Tomlinson (Musician), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Exes to Lovers, Famous/Not famous, Love Island, M/M, Therapy is Wonderful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: Louis had been, until about a year prior, the love of Harry’s life.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Luke Malak/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 224
Collections: Walls Fic Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Bitter-Leaf](http://bitter-leaf.tumblr.com/) for the beta and [runaway-train-works](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/) for the Brit pick!  
> And to [Lauren](http://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/) and for everything always and to [Maggie](http://disgruntledkittenface.tumblr.com/) for the handholding!

“You sure you want to watch this?” Niall asked, already slowly reaching for the remote. 

“No.” Harry snatched it before Niall could get too close. “But if I don’t, I’m sure what I imagine will be even worse so I should just face the reality of it.”

Niall snorted. “Reality.”

“You know what I mean.” 

When the screen changed from a Just Eats advert to a panoramic glamour shot of the Majorcan coast, Harry unmuted the TV and turned the volume up further, hating the way his body bopped along to the catchy theme music. 

It was the _Love Island_ live final, and the ex that he still wasn’t over was happily coupled-up in one of the four remaining couples. 

Louis had been, until about a year prior, the love of Harry’s life. Louis was whip smart and gorgeous and doted on his family and didn’t take himself or Harry too seriously. Everyone had seemed surprised when Louis had broken up with him, and no one seemed surprised that it was taking Harry this long to get over him. They had been perfectly matched. Then Louis had pulled the rug out from under him and Harry had spent months reevaluating their relationship and the way Harry had treated him, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

Harry’s stomach churned as they replayed Louis and Luke’s time together in the villa. Harry wanted to hate Luke, he resented him on principle, and the jealousy never let up, but the fact was that Luke appeared to be a stand-up bloke who treated Louis like he deserved. When Louis scoffed and refused to eat the avocado toast that Luke made him one morning for breakfast, Luke had a good-natured laugh about it, then went and fixed Louis’ standard bowl of coco pops. When Louis kicked off about rumours that Luke’s eyes had wandered while tempted by new partners when half the villa had been whisked away to Casa Amor, Luke stayed calm, never matching Louis’ anger. Harry had seen the perfectly respectful way Luke had acted while away from Louis, tempted by others who were ‘more his type on paper’, but instead laying around on the chaise lounges moaning about how much he missed Louis; how he couldn’t wait to get back to him. Harry could relate. 

But now it was the last episode of the season and Luke was standing with his arm around Louis, the two of them dressed to the nines and with huge smiles on their faces, touching each other’s thighs while being interviewed by Laura Whitmore—the traitor. Harry wondered if he could get away with snubbing her on the next round of press he had to do for his upcoming tour. Probably not. But he’d ask anyway. And maybe most painful of all, was the way Luke and Louis kept looking at each other, like they were having private, silent conversations, still totally happy and wrapped up in each other as the camera panned over to focus on another couple. 

Harry scowled silently through the whole thing, annoyed that they made the top three, and then raging that they were in the top two.

“It’ll be great if we win, obviously,” says Luke. “But I’ve already won, just by finding Louis.”

Harry stuck his tongue out and gagged exaggeratedly until Niall kicked him in the thigh. Harry hated how true it was. And hated that Luke really seemed to believe it, like he wasn’t just playing up their happiness for audience votes. 

“Thoughts on how you’ll spend the money, if you win?” Laura asked with a teasing grin. 

“Probably get a dog,” Louis said, turning to see if Luke agreed. 

“Put it towards our new place,” Luke said, pulling Louis even closer to him. If Louis leaned in any closer he’d be on Luke’s lap. 

Right. That had been mentioned in passing on the previous episode, them moving in together. Luke moving down to London. To live with Louis. Something Louis had always resisted when it came to Harry. The ugly ball of jealousy continued to churn in his gut. Then it was a quick edit to another couple and Harry had fallen off the couch in frustration, hating that he couldn’t hear more. If Louis was nervous. If Louis thought they were moving too fast. If Louis wanted to make sure he maintained his own identity, outside of Luke. If Louis was afraid of getting bored, in their shared house while Luke was away.

Or maybe with Luke there were no worries at all. 

Unless Harry quickly changed career paths and became a TV editor, he’d never know. 

Laura joked about Luke putting a ring on it, to which Luke easily agreed, and then Louis was doing the cabbage patch dance, laugh-singing “I’ve got a husband. I’ve got a husband.” Vomiting all over his sofa was a serious concern for Harry.

“Come on, Haz. Let’s turn it off. We could be doing literally anythi—” Niall lunged for the remote. 

“You don’t have to watch, if you don’t want to,” Harry said, turning up his nose at Niall. 

“I won’t make you watch this disaster alone.” Niall went back to fucking around on his phone, but Harry appreciated the sentiment. 

After the next advert break, the only thing left to do was announce the winner, then find out if they’d split the money. 

Laura smiled at the camera, then said, “This year’s _Love Island_ winners are…” The cameras cut between the two remaining couples, the audience, back to Laura, to each set of couples again. Harry was over the dramatics. “Luke and Louis!” 

Harry sunk back into the sofa as Louis launched himself into Luke’s arms. Luke lifted him and Louis wrapped his legs around Luke’s waist. The camera panned to the second place couple who were still smiling and hugging and acting like they had won too. Maybe everyone did actually find love. 

“You okay?” Niall asked, as the camera focused on Louis’ face, the absolute joy shining brightly as he kissed Luke. 

“No.” Harry hated everything about this. 

“Now you know what comes next,” Laura prompted. “I need one of you on each side of me.” Louis slid down and stood on his own two feet, planting one last kiss on Luke’s cheek before walking over to the other side of Laura. Laura had each of them pick a sealed envelope. One with fifty-thousand pounds, the other with nothing. 

Louis opened his first. Nothing. He tilted his head to the side and gave the camera an exaggerated pout while he shrugged his shoulders. The crowd, which had been ordered to stay quiet, were gasping and twittering amongst themselves. Luke opened his. Fifty-thousand. 

“Now the question is,” Laura said, drawing it out to add to the manufactured drama, “if Luke was really here to find love, or if he was here for the money.” Luke smiled for the camera and winked at Louis. “Luke, are you going to give half of the 50k to Louis? Or are you going to keep it all for yourself?”

“I’m going to share it, obviously,” Luke said, as the live audience erupted in cheers. 

Louis and Luke were embracing again, eyes wide and mouths open in disbelief at winning. At least Louis hadn’t been humiliated on live TV. Luke seemed like a decent enough bloke but there was no way Harry could’ve protected Louis from a long con like that. 

“Can we turn it off now?” Niall asked. 

Harry handed him the remote. It was over. 

***

In the days following the finale, Harry kept busy, which wasn’t very hard since he was finalising his latest album, and planning his upcoming tour, and rehearsing for upcoming promo. Normally though, he’d poke around on social media when he had a few minutes of downtime. After the first few days of seeing Louis’ smiling face everywhere; on the morning shows, trending on twitter, popping up on ads on Instagram, Harry had a stern talk with himself and vowed to stay away as best as he could. 

And even though he still had Louis at the forefront of his mind, at least he didn’t have to keep being reminded of how happy he was without Harry from every corner of the internet. 

Harry had a world tour to plan and a broken heart to mend, there wasn’t time for him to be dicking around on the internet anyway. 

Over the next few weeks, Harry was able to, not move on, exactly, but, deep down, under the hurt and feelings of inadequacy—what did Luke have that he didn’t?—he really was happy that Louis was happy, so he was doing his best to be at peace with the reality of Louis publicly dating someone new. Ironic, considering. 

One afternoon, he was mid-rehearsal, trying to figure out what placement and movement would feel the most natural during a particularly high energy moment of the show, how the lights could compliment what else was happening on stage, when his assistant, Adam, called a five minute break. “It’s Gemma,” he said, holding Harry’s phone aloft. 

Harry tossed Mitch a water bottle and took a swig of his own before taking the phone from Adam. 

“Hey Gems,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I just saw the news. Called you immediately.”

His heart sank and he felt nauseous. That was never a good thing. “I haven’t seen anything. Been busy.”

“Louis and Luke broke up.”

“What?” Harry’s emotions boomeranged from scared to optimistic. “How do you know? What happened.” His hands shook as he waited for more information. 

“Saw it on The Gram. Luke posted that it was a mutual decision but the Sun has texts from other guys that he was flirting with, so…”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. I called Lottie, because like, I wanted to double check, and apparently it wasn’t as mutual as Luke wants everyone to believe. She didn’t say a lot, can’t blame her wanting to protect her big brother, but I think he’s taking it pretty hard.”

Harry was speechless.

“Yeah, so like… anyway, I know how hung up on him you’ve been, so I just wanted to let you know.”

“Shit, Gem.”

“I know.” She waited quietly while Harry tried to collect his thoughts. 

He didn’t even know how to handle this. Maybe it was best he did nothing. But, he wasn’t one to wait idly and hope things would magically work out either. “Should I…?” Calling him seemed too scary; his heart was too fragile for another let down, even a friendly one. Going to see him was out of the question for the same reason. A text didn’t seem personal enough, besides, ‘sorry your new boyfriend was cheating on you’ seemed callous and gloat-y.

“I don’t know, Haz,” Gemma said, when it was clear Harry wasn’t finishing his thought out loud. 

Adam was not-so-subtly trying to get Harry’s attention so Harry wrapped up the call. “Gotta go Gems, we’ve got a tight schedule today.” There was no need to be rash, he had some time to come up with a plan, or to figure out if he should just leave well enough alone and keep Louis in his past.

He and Gemma said their “I love you’s’ and hung up, leaving Harry to try and get through the rest of the day focusing on his career and not his love life. 

***

“Flowers,” he said breathlessly into the phone later that day. “Gemma, what do you think about flowers.”

“Hi to you too. And I love flowers. What’s the occasion?”

“Flowers for Louis. Just to let him know I’m thinking of him. Flowers means there’s no pressure for him to respond.”

“I think… I think you should be careful. Manage your expectations.”

“Yeah… I’m not— There’s a good chance he won’t want to talk to me. Which is… it’s fine… really. I just…” Maybe he wasn’t doing a good job of protecting his heart, but maybe it was time to admit that Louis was more important than Harry’s heart. He’d been dealing with this cracked, damaged, offbeat heart for a while now, he could keep on for a while more. “I want him to know that he still has people in his corner. That I’ll always care.”

“Well I can’t stop you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I was actually hoping…”

“Haz.” There was a warning in Gemma’s voice. 

“Can you get his new address from Lottie?” It was weird, not knowing where Louis lived. He couldn’t picture what kind of table the flowers would go on, what the room would look like. There was just a void when he thought of Louis relaxing at home. It was like he had lost an integral part of knowing who Louis was. “Please?” he added when he was met with silence.

“Just for flowers.”

“I swear. You don’t even have to tell me. You could order—”

“No. I’m shutting that idea down immediately.” Harry blew a raspberry in her ear. “I will ask Lottie if she’s comfortable giving it out. And no pouting if she says no.”

“Fair enough.”

And that’s how easy it had been to learn that Louis was actually still in his same flat, that he and Luke never took that step that they had talked to the media about. Harry sent him twice as many daffodils than he originally planned, with a card that simply said, “Wishing you every happiness. -H”

***

Harry was in the middle of packing, trying to decide the pieces he absolutely couldn’t live without for the six weeks until his next break, when the text from Louis came through. Harry really should’ve removed the heart emojis by the letter L in his contacts, but it had felt like defeat at the time, when he’d still held hope that Louis might change his mind. And then he had moved onto the ‘pretending Louis doesn’t exist’ and going into his contacts would’ve directly contradicted that. 

“Thank you,” the text read.

Formal. Straight to the point. Didn’t leave any room for Harry to reply. 

He finished packing. There was nothing else to be done. 

***

When Harry had been writing his album he was thinking about how it would feel to perform the songs live. When he was looking at stage-wear, he was thinking about how they’d move and how the ecstatic fans would react when they saw him for the first time that night. Harry had meticulously planned all of it: merch and venue booking and the visuals and how close he wanted the band to be to him.

Performing. 

That was what he was born to do. And he loved every single second of being up on that stage. 

Which is why he was standing backstage after the first show of the tour, sweating, exhausted, full of adrenaline, surprised at how _much_ he fucking missed it. He had killed it. The show was incredible, considering it was the first of the tour. There were things to be improved, always, but this was a fantastic start. 

And still his thoughts were with Louis. 

It was the first show in ages where Louis wasn’t backstage, or there wasn’t a message from him on Harry’s phone. Or a surprise: a cake, Harry’s favorite weed, a piece of jewelry, something that Louis had worked with Harry’s assistant to mark the start of a tour. His band was in their green room, and Harry was alone in his, hearing the strike happen outside his door. 

He showered, letting the water wash away the stress of the show. His heart was sinking with each passing moment. 

He should be over this. Louis broke up with him. And he was an internationally famous pop star who was still just desperately sad that despite his ability to get almost anything he wanted with a snap of his fingers and a bit of time, he couldn’t convince Louis to stay with him. The best thing in his life walked right out the door and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. 

He wasn’t even sure exactly what went wrong, or how to fix it.

So he let the water fall over him. Let his tears fall. Then put his game face on and went out to celebrate the start of the tour with his team. 

***

It wasn’t until a week later, when he was sprawled out, alone, on his hotel bed, watching _Grease_ in the middle of the night that he broke down. He was so utterly alone that he couldn’t turn off the self-doubt and even a long warm shower, his usual calming method, didn’t tamp down on the energy still zinging through his bones. He was at a breaking point, where his chest felt heavy and tight, there was a pressure behind his eyes but the tears wouldn’t come. He was all bottled up, with no release valve. 

He picked up his phone, and hating himself with every fiber of his body for being weak, he texted Louis. “Danny Zuko in a baseball uniform.” 

There would never not be a time that _Grease_ wouldn’t remind him of Louis, and it couldn’t hurt for Louis to be reminded of that occasionally, that there was someone out in the world who _knew_ him, loved him deeply and hated being pushed away.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted Louis to respond or not, so he double checked his phone was on silent and then put it face down on the bedside table. Schrödinger’s phone. He didn’t even know what time it was in the UK. His charger was across the room on the dressing table, but he’s sure Adam could charge his phone on the fly the next day. He was too wiped out to move. 

After a fitful sleep, he was shoved awake by Adam, and was somehow more tired than when he was tossing and turning as the sun started to rise. He washed his face and cleaned his teeth and put on something that would be easily removable once he got to the location and his stylist-approved outfits. He grabbed his phone and pocketed it without looking, and it wasn’t until he was drowsy-eyed in the back of a van, trying to focus on the schedule for the day when he pulled it out to fuck around. 

Louis had responded. “Danny Zuko in the basketball uniform.”

Harry snorted, and the rest of his team did a stellar job of not prying. 

It was something. Something more than nothing. 

The text had come through at some point when Harry was trying to force himself to sleep; hours ago. But he didn’t want to respond right away. It still felt desperate, that Louis would be able to see exactly how much Harry was falling apart without him by his metaphorical side. 

Later, over dinner at a white table-clothed steakhouse with his management team, Harry pulled out his phone and sent “Long distance running. Cross country running.” He could’ve sent something more eloquent with all the overthinking he did through the day, but Coach Calhoun’s voice was in his head. _Stamina._

Dessert hadn’t yet been served when Louis sent back a link to YouTube. Harry excused himself, popped his earbuds in on the way to the loo, and hoped it was a single stall. Small miracles. He closed and locked the door, opened the link, and watched a remix of Coach Calhoun directing Danny towards a sport with no physical contact. 

It was the hardest he had laughed in days. 

He sent Louis back a “lol” and then said, “Thank you for this. I needed a laugh today.”

His phone informed him that Louis was typing, but then nothing came. He waited an extra minute or two, but when it became clear that Louis wasn’t actually going to respond, Harry took his earbuds out, washed his hands for good measure, then went back to finish dinner. 

Louis’ response came through later that night when Harry was showering the day off of him back at the hotel. He got out, wrapped a towel around himself, and unlocked the phone.

“The visuals look great. Sick opening animations.”

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat. Louis had seen the visuals. He had watched a live stream or seen something on Twitter, and then, in probably the most unlikely turn of events, he had told Harry. Louis had always been a fan, he actually enjoyed the music Harry made, would wax on about the bits of lyrics that touched him in some way, or got stuck in his head and made him think. Sonically too, Louis wouldn’t say much in the beginning, the first few listens, but the more he listened the more he talked to Harry about the details he was drawn to, the way something was produced or a hard to pinpoint noise amidst the layers of instruments. His critiques were thoughtful and heartfelt, and he never claimed to like something that Harry didn’t believe was true. 

It was nice of Louis to let him know. Even if it didn’t mean anything. But there was a spark of hope where before he had only ashy soot. Maybe he’d never have Louis again the way that he truly wanted, totally completely romantically and over the top in love, but maybe he could get used to having Louis as a friend. It’d be hard the next time Louis fell in love again, but he’d gotten through it once, he could do it again. 

“Thank you.” Maybe a little too formal, but he kept typing. “We spent a lot of time with that one, getting it right.” Because of course Louis had picked up on a detail that Harry cared about. 

He didn’t want to fan the flame, but he wasn’t ready to extinguish it either.

***

After that, the texting became a daily routine. 

“What should I make for dinner?” Louis asked one Tuesday night. Harry helpfully suggested a fish sandwich, considering Louis’ limited skills in the kitchen. Louis sent a picture of the finished product; a bit browner, and with more sauce oozing out the sides than Harry would make, but a finished food nonetheless. 

Harry sent two photos, the identical suit but one with large pinstripes and the other a rather pinkish mauve, and asked Louis which he should wear on stage. Louis helpfully responded that he should consider whether he felt like a zoot suiter or the first female CEO to break the glass ceiling. Harry felt more like a glittering disco ball, and so chose a third option, a mirrored silver thing, and sent a mirror selfie after talking it over with Louis. Louis sent back a thumbs up right before show time. Harry smashed the show that night.

Louis sent a video of him doing a series of kick ups in the backyard, then a proud little smile and “personal best!” Harry’s heart melted, but he refrained from sending more flowers, or a small gift, or immediately calling to confirm that Louis was the best person ever to have existed. Because they weren’t together, and things weren’t the same as they had been. Instead, Harry texted a video of him attempting the same, and miserably failing. Predictably, Louis’ response was multiple rows of crying laughing face emojis. 

Harry tried to stay away from anything too personal: their families, their romantic lives (or lack thereof, in Harry’s case), fears and hopes for the future. It was much safer to make constant small talk. A companion through the day to share the little moments, which was more than Harry could’ve asked for. He already felt like he was pushing it some days, even though Louis never let on that he was annoyed or whatever. But, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it. Louis never let on that he was ready to end it with Harry, Harry never saw it coming, so he was waiting for the other shoe to drop this time, for Louis to give up for good and walk away without so much as a goodbye. So Harry kept it surface level and that way when Louis walked away again, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

***

Harry’s ringing phone woke him up. Sleep was a precious commodity, so he was a steadfast believer in his phone’s do not disturb function, and only two people could get through to him in the middle of the night, no matter where in the world he was.

His heart pumped double-time when he recognised Louis’ once-familiar ringtone. As he answered with shaking hands, he realised that he should’ve taken Louis off his list and maybe put Gemma on. But it was too late now. It was closer to sunrise than the middle of the night and his eyes were barely open and his ex-boyfriend was calling him.

“Hello?” Harry’s voice was thick with sleep. 

The other end of the line was loud—a party or a bar raging in the background—and Harry thought he might actually kill Louis if he ever sees him again for butt dialing him. 

“Haz?” Louis’ voice was quiet, too far away. “Haz, you there?”

It would have been easy for Harry to hang up. Louis couldn’t hear him anyway. He could go back to drinking and Harry could go back to sleep and they could both forget this happened. 

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat, and enunciated, “Lou, I’m here.”

Louis sighed loudly, obnoxiously, into the phone. There was vague shouting, and then a door shutting, and the party was muffled. “Sorry. Can you— Are you there?”

“I’m here, Lou. I’m here.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to answer.”

“Yeah…” There were a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t’ve. “Well, I did.”

Louis didn’t respond. They sat on the phone, in different locations, and Harry listened to Louis breathe. It was so much like what Harry used to need to get to sleep that his heart couldn’t take it. “Are you okay, Lou?”

“Um. I shouldn’t have called.”

Harry knew that he wasn’t going to get back to sleep, that Louis’ drunken call, hearing that rasp, would send him spiraling again. Maybe he could mine it for more depressing songs; give Adele a run for her money.

“But you did.”

Louis breathed into his phone and Harry listened. 

“Thanks for picking up,” Louis eventually said. “I won’t bother you again.” 

The line went dead and Harry put down his phone and practised some deep breathing instead of picking it up and calling Louis back. When he was sure he could trust himself not to, he stood up, pulled his dressing gown around his body, and went down to make a cup of tea.

***

Louis didn’t call again. Nor did he text. The following day, he left Harry’s text, the one he sent checking to see if Louis was okay, on read. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t expect it. He knew that Louis could be prickly and emotionally distant on the best days. But also. Things had been better between them. They were communicating regularly and Harry hoped it was going to be a minor blip and not the end of the road for them. 

As he neared a month since the call, Harry began to give up hope that Louis was interested in picking back up where they had left off. 

***

The party was banging. Harry had downed plenty of Rande’s tequila and he was living it up on the dance floor with some of his team when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blue eyes and brown hair and tanned skin that he would know anywhere. His breath caught in his chest: Louis had always hated this club. 

Harry grabbed hold of Jeff, his manager, and pulled him closer with a sultry dip of his hips. When he glanced back across the dance floor, Louis was staring him down while he had his hands on some buff blond guy’s hips. Louis didn’t look happy to see him, but his eyes were glued on Harry, even as his pelvis was pressed into this other guy’s arse.

Whatever. Louis had broken up with him. Then stopped texting him. Louis knew where Harry stood and if he was upset that Harry was on the dance floor, then fuck him. Harry didn’t look away as he rolled his hips and pressed back into Jeff. Even from the distance, Harry saw Louis flinch, then whisper something that made the other man tilt his head back in ecstasy. The DJ transitioned into something sultrier, something that had the normally stoic Jeff slink his body back into Harry’s, and Harry let his arm drape over Jeff’s chest, pulling him closer. Louis and his partner appeared to be getting closer as well. It made the tequila churn uncomfortably in Harry’s stomach.

Then Louis wrapped his arm around the guy’s stomach and started kissing the side of his neck. The stranger’s head was tossed back, giving Louis full access, and Harry was both aroused, remembering what it felt like to have Louis’ attention on him like that, and also sick, knowing that he’d never feel Louis’ lips on him again. 

“You okay?” Jeff’s voice cut through the noise of the club, right into Harry’s ear. 

“Yeah. Why?”

“You stopped dancing. Need some water?” Harry did need water, but more than that, he needed to stop watching Louis hump some arsehole on the dance floor. 

“Okay.” He finally pulled his eyes off of Louis and clasped tight to Jeff’s hand as they made their way to the bar and the promise of some head-clearing water. By the time they got back to their table, water in hand, Harry had lost track of Louis, but he was still sick at the thought that Louis might’ve pulled that guy into the loo or some dark corner of the packed club. He always had an exhibitionist streak that Harry was too scared to indulge. 

As Harry sat and tried to sober up, he felt sicker and sicker thinking about the things Louis might be doing with that other man. Where Louis’ hands were. If his breath had hitched yet. If he’d even learned what name to moan. Surely that guy wouldn’t know how to touch Louis in the way he needed. 

Harry’s brain was on a loop of all the awful things he didn’t need to be thinking about, and the panic in his chest wasn’t loosening at all, only getting worse as the strobe lights pulsed and everyone around him kept up with their easy chats and laughter. 

“Need some fresh air,” Harry gasped to Jeff, who looked up and nodded, then went back to his conversation with Rande. 

Harry stumbled towards the back exit, pushed his way past the burly doorman and tried to fill his lungs once he hit the cool night air. He couldn’t slow his breathing, so he squatted against the brick wall of the building, and put his head between his legs. He still felt ill but less like he was going to pass out, so he slowly opened his eyes and focused on the pair of beat up trainers the person smoking in the corner was wearing. 

Then he remembered the way that same pair used to be carelessly left inside his door, and he dragged his eyes upward, knowing for sure who it was by the time he got to the thighs. 

“Cigarette?” Louis rasped, holding out his pack once they made eye contact. 

Harry shrugged a yes and took one out, exchanging the packet for Louis’ lighter. It was peacock patterned and Harry was pretty sure it had once belonged to him. “Thanks.”

They smoked in silence, the noise of the night undercut by the deep base still thumping on the other side of the wall. Louis was still sweaty and Harry wanted to bury himself in the side of Louis’ neck. 

“New boyfriend?” Harry asked, finally. He didn’t really want to know the answer, but the not knowing was just as painful. 

“What?”

“The guy you were dancing with?”

Louis scoffed. “No.” He dropped the butt of his cigarette and stubbed it out with his toe. “Trying to make you jealous,” he said, quietly. 

“It worked.” Harry’s voice was just as quiet.

Louis took an unsteady step towards Harry and wrapped his hand around Harry’s, the one still gripping the lighter. “It’s mine.” Louis said. Harry wanted to argue—it was _his_ —but Louis was inches away from him, so close that he could smell the beer on his breath, and all he could think about was how much he missed him. 

Harry opened his hand to let Louis have the lighter as Louis tilted his head and took another step closer. 

His lips were on Harry’s and Harry’s rational brain was screaming for him to stop, to step back, to tell Louis where to shove it, to block, delete, that Louis was bad news. But it was also _Louis_. In his arms. Willingly kissing him. And Harry hadn’t known the last time was The Last Time, so this time he was going to savor it. He was going to show Louis everything he was missing. Maybe this was Louis coming back to him. Maybe not. But maybe. It was worth the chance. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Louis mumbled eventually, and it was painfully reminiscent of every time Harry had dragged him to some dull event, where, a few hours in, Louis would whisper those words in Harry’s ear and they would race home to tear each other’s clothes off. 

“Okay.” Harry was always going to be easy for Louis. 

He hailed a cab and texted Jeff that he had left. In the taxi, Louis sat close to him in the dark back seat, picking at his fingernails and staring out of the window. Harry knew, down to his bones, that bringing Louis back to his—getting physical with him again—was a bad idea. It took every ounce of self control not to grab Louis’ hand. 

So many times when they were together, they had loudly and messily fallen out of the cabs, groping at each other as they scrambled to open the door. Sometimes they didn’t even make it to the bed, one of them falling to their knees in the hall, or bending the other one over the kitchen table. This was nothing like those times. For as loud as Louis normally was, especially drunk, he stayed quiet, his lips pressed tightly together. He followed Harry up to his flat, and kept his hands to himself.

Louis squinted when Harry flicked on the lights, and then asked, “Moving?” when he saw the half packed boxes spread across the flat. 

“Yeah.” It felt like admitting something shameful, even though it wasn’t. He was successful and could afford something nicer and Louis had left him, so Louis wasn’t going to be privy to those details any more.

Maybe Louis realised that, because he just said, “Oh.” and walked toward the bedroom. 

Harry followed. He was helpless to do anything else. 

But Louis stopped just inside the bedroom, and Harry caught him looking around, like he had any right to, like he cared what Harry’s bedroom currently looked like, and Harry knew what a bad idea this was, but he spun Louis around and kissed him hard, walking him backwards toward the bed. 

Louis went pliant in his arms, and he moved easily the last few steps, until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he sat down. 

Louis stripped off his shirt, dropping it on the floor like a habit, and Harry knew it was going to be painful when he tried to talk with Louis afterwards, but he still couldn’t resist the sight of Louis, topless, on his bed, waiting for Harry’s next move. So Harry did what any person not thinking clearly would do, and stripped. By the time he got his socks off, Louis was naked, crawling up the bed and planting himself face down arse up. 

In all their time together, Harry could probably count on his fingers the number of times they did it not face to face. Those times had been at the beginning of their relationship, when he was still learning Louis’ body and all the ways he could tip him over into overwhelming euphoria. “Like this?” Harry asked, more to himself than Louis. 

“Yep,” Louis chirped, half-burying his face in a pillow. Harry slowly dragged a hand up Louis’ thigh. It was smooth and warm and for some reason Harry’s brain reminded him of their last beach trip, of lying out in the sun for hours, drinking icy, too sweet cocktails, and massaging in suncream.

Louis wiggled his arse, his non-verbal request for Harry to get on with it, so Harry dropped his hand and leaned over to the bedside table to pull out the lube. And condom. It felt like a spoon was slowly shoveling out his heart when he realised a condom might be needed. Was definitely needed, because confirmation from Louis would have him sobbing on the sofa instead of dicking into the love of his life, so he wasn’t going to ask. 

Sliding into Louis was the best and worst thing Harry had done in ages. 

Harry took his time, trying to show Louis in all the ways he couldn’t say out loud how much he missed him, how good they had been together, that he didn’t understand why Louis had left him. But Louis kept squirming and Harry knew he wanted more—to be fucked hard—but Harry hadn’t gotten his fill yet, so he worked at his own pace; making love to Louis slowly, savouring it, in case it was the last time.

The kiss between Louis’ shoulder blades was the straw that broke the camel’s back, Louis bucking his hips back and growling, “Fucking fuck me, already,” and Harry did as he was asked, putting his back into it and thrusting roughly like Louis deserved, like he wanted.

Louis’ silence turned to deep moans below him, matching Harry’s grunts, then as their hips sped up, the only sound was the slapping of skin on skin. Finally, Louis cried out as Harry felt him clench tight around him. Once he was sure Louis was done, he picked up his speed again, rocking into Louis and using him until he felt that sweet release. 

“Thanks for that,” Louis said as soon as it was over, already getting out of bed, and Harry’s heart sunk as Louis bent over to pick up his boxers, felt sick watching him button up his jeans and put his shirt back on.

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked, even though the answer was clear. 

“Yeah.” Louis looked briefly at the bed, then shoved his bare feet into his trainers, not even bothering to put on his socks. Like Harry hadn’t just been _inside_ Louis’ arse. “I have an early start in the morning.”

Oldest lie in the book, Harry thought grimly. Louis wouldn’t have gone out if that was true. Wouldn’t have been trying to pull. But Harry was too dumb struck to fight it. “Okay,” he said, like any of this was easy. 

Louis opened his mouth, then obviously thought better of whatever he had to say and closed it again. He stood up, gave Harry an awkward half wave, and said “Bye,” before turning and walking out of Harry’s flat. 

Still in bed, Harry turned over, thought about picking up the used condom on the floor, then closed his eyes, kidding himself that he’d be able to sleep. 

***

“Hazza. Jesus Christ, man.” Niall opened the blinds and Harry squinted to avoid the flood of light. “Is that a— Minging. Pick up your condom, you neanderthal.”

“Leave me alone,” Harry protested.

“I’ve left you alone long enough. You’ve got work to do. And since Jeff can’t do his damn job, here I am, doing it for him and dragging you out of bed.”

“How can I be expected to work?” Harry moaned. “He left. Again.”

Niall sat daintily on the edge of the mattress. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Louis.”

Harry didn’t want to confirm nor deny so he stayed quiet. 

“Fucking hell, Harry.” 

“I know,” Harry said into his pillow. 

“Does he have a golden dick? What is your deal with him?”

Harry tried to pull the duvet over his head but Niall yanked it back down. 

“I…” Harry knew how stupid it was. How much it hurt the first time. That he should’ve stayed far far away from Louis. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. No matter how unrealistic, I was betting on a second chance. But I didn’t…” It hurt _so much._ “He didn’t even clean up. Just hopped off my dick and escaped like he was fleeing a burning building.”

“He’s a wanker.”

Niall was right. “He’s…”

“A wanker and not worth your time,” Niall finished for him. “I cannot believe that Jeffery let you leave with that cunt. And I’m back here, picking up the pieces, again.”

Harry sat up. It really wasn’t fair to Niall. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. But you can pretend to be and get your arse to work, like every other sad sack out there in the working world. Then you can crash at my place and we’ll have too many beers and a game of FIFA or something.”

Harry wiped the drool from the side of his face. “Beers are on me.”

“Obviously, rock star.” Niall scrubbed the top of Harry’s head with his knuckles. “Now, go shower because you reek.”

***

Harry was stupid enough to believe that he’d be able to get over Louis quicker this time. But it had been a week and he still felt like his heart was cracking open whenever his thoughts wandered traitorously to him.

Closure. He decided that he needed closure. Attempting to get over Louis without knowing why Louis left him was pointless, obviously, so he was determined to make Louis talk to him. As angry as he was, Harry sent him a fairly bland, “can we talk?” text. And Louis left him on read. Again. 

So, Harry had no choice but to show up at Louis’ flat. He knew it was entitled, and he felt a bit crazy, but it was the only way to get the closure he needed. 

He waited outside, halfway down the street like a creep until another resident of the block of flats let themselves in and he hurried to catch the door before it closed. With his heart pounding, he made his way up to the third floor and knocked, his breathing fast and palms sweaty. On one hand, if Louis wasn't home, Harry was afraid he'd lose his nerve and never try to raise it again, never get the closure he needed. On the other hand, if Louis was home, Harry was afraid he'd have to hear the truth, and that Louis would break his heart for good.

There was the sound of the door unlocking, and then Louis’ surprised eyes when he opened it. He took a step back at the sight of Harry. He was wearing cut off grey trackies and a holey t-shirt, and he almost looked sick; hair greasy and unkempt, with grey circles under his eyes. He licked his chapped lips. “What are you doing here, mate?”

“Are you okay?”

Louis’ eyebrows drew together and he puffed his chest. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Oh. You look…” Harry closed his mouth before saying something that would make Louis shut the door on him for insinuating that he looked anything less than perfect. 

“Haz.” Louis sounded tired. “What are you doing here?”

Harry tried to sound firm and not pathetic. “We need to talk.”

“Why. Are you dying?”

“That’s not funny. And no,” he tacked on, “I’m not dying. As if my dying wish would be to talk to you.”

With a deep sigh, Louis stepped aside and let Harry in. “Do you want a drink? I’m probably going to need one.”

Harry followed wordlessly to the kitchen where Louis pulled out a bottle of vodka and two rocks glasses. Harry helped himself to the ice cube trays in the freezer, then Louis poured them each a generous amount. “Don’t have any mixers,” Louis grumbled, glaring into the glass. 

Harry shrugged and took a small sip, trying to hide his shudder. 

Louis walked the short distance to the sofa and Harry followed. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Us.”

“Harry—”

“I want to know what I did wrong. What I did that was so awful that you had to walk out on me, _twice_ , without an explanation. I don’t claim to be perfect, at all, I know I can be hard to deal with.” Louis’ words, once thrown at him, came to mind. _Arrogant son of a bitch._ “And my life comes with a lot of baggage. But… I thought it was going well. Or at least that it was going well enough that I’d at least deserve an explanation.”

“I—” Louis faltered. 

“And if you wanted to be through with me for good,” Harry said mournfully, the last of the fight leaving his voice, “why did you keep testing me? Could’ve drawn a line under it and been done, but you didn’t… You chose to come back into my life.”

“You! You sent me the flowers.”

Harry plowed on as if Louis hadn’t spoken, gaining steam as he went. “And I felt like we were friends again. I was so happy,” his voice cracked with emotion, “that you were back in my life. You didn’t have to toy with me. You didn’t have to sleep with me and walk back out. I was fine when you first left.” A lie. “Fine! And it’s cruel, you coming back to taunt me like that. I didn’t deserve that. Whatever I did to make you go the first time, I didn’t deserve it a second time. I know that.”

Louis’ jaw worked, tensing and releasing as Harry talked. Harry picked a point on Louis’ jaw to concentrate on as he talked, not wanting to get distracted by the rest of Louis’ handsome face.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” Harry was desperate, pleading, throwing everything at this attempt. “All I wanted was for us to be together. I thought we’d be together forever, Louis. You’re—”

“That’s just it!” Louis cried out. “What the fuck are you taking about, _forever_? You’re a fucking rock star, Harry.”

“What—”

“When we met you were playing odd nights in a pub. But your last tour was world wide. Arenas! That sold out!”

“So?”

“So?! You’re a bloody world famous rock star with people throwing themselves at you wherever you go. How am I meant to compete with that?”

Harry tried to piece together what Louis was saying. He supposed it was true that more people wanted to sleep with him these days… but it was just that. They wanted to sleep with him. They were fans, but he would never speak to them, touch them, learn about their lives. None of them would ever hold a candle to Louis. “What?”

Louis crossed his arms over his chest. “I know how this ends for me. Cheated on and feeling pathetic, even though I did nothing wrong. Just like all my other relationships.”

“You… pre-broke up with me, because you thought I’d cheat on you.”

“I know you will.” Louis frowned. “Everyone does. I’ve sworn off guys. Everyone’s trash.”

“Everyone? I— Have you ever cheated on someone?”

Louis looked scandalised. “Of course not. I’m not an awful human being.”

“But… you think I am. I’m a trash human being who would choose sleeping with a groupie over a fulfilling relationship with the best person I know?”

Louis shrugged. “You slept with me.”

“I was holding out some ridiculous hope that you wanted to get back with me. Clearly I was wrong.”

A wry grin curled at Louis’ lips. “That’s not what I meant,” Louis scoffed. “Back then, when we first got together. I was just an annoying groupie who you slept with and then I stuck around too long.”

It was like whiplash. How Louis viewed himself this whole time. How Louis viewed _him_ the whole time they were together. “You think you were just a groupie?”

“We met after I watched your set that night. I was… enthralled by your music.”

“We did meet after a set. But… I never, _ever_ thought of you as a groupie. You’re the love of my life. And I knew it from that first night.” Harry recoiled at the next thought. “I never had an interest in sleeping around. You know how few people I’ve slept with. Music isn’t a way for me to get laid. It’s… fuck, Lou.” 

Louis’ jaw ticked again, and he was staring at the wall, refusing to look at Harry.

Harry went on. “I slept with you because you were funny and sweet and noisy and passionate, not because you wanted one night with me. Do you remember how hard you made me work that night? I’d walk through fire for you.” It was so frustrating that Harry experienced it all so differently than Louis. 

Harry wanted to finish his vodka. He wanted to drink all the vodka he could get his hands on and forget that Louis even existed. But mostly, he needed to leave. He stood up. It was all so pointless. Showing up had been a mistake.

“You…” Harry was actually fuming. “I can’t believe you thought so little of me when we were together. That I would treat you like that. That you consider yourself a groupie?” Harry can’t believe Louis ruined the possibility of their future without even talking to him. He never even asked what Harry wanted. “I wanted you to move in with me! I wanted to share my whole life with you. And you threw my love away.”

Harry had cycled through anger and indignation and sadness through this whole conversation, but it was clear at this point that the Louis he thought he knew didn’t even exist. His Louis was scared and closed off sometimes, his defences raised when Harry talked about a shared future, but Harry didn’t think he had thought so little of himself. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Louis meekly defended himself. 

Harry sucked in a loud breath between his teeth. “Sounds like it was. So you know what…” He put his hands on his knees then stood up. “I’m going to go. You know how to reach me if you ever get your shit together.” And without looking back, Harry walked out of Louis’ life. 


	2. Chapter 2

Louis had secretly hoped that Harry would make one last ditch effort. When he didn’t, Louis knew that he had well and truly fucked it up.

But, whatever. It wasn’t like Harry wasn’t going to hurt him eventually, since all guys did. What he and Harry had was so good, but it was always going to end. This time he just got the jump on Harry, ending it first before Harry crushed his heart. Harry could have his pick of literally anyone in the world, so why would he stick with Louis when he had a million other options. Especially with his even-bigger-than-the-last, balls-to-the-wall, pulling-out-all-the-stops current world tour. 

Louis knew he made the right decision, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt.

***

It was a year since Harry had walked out of Louis’ flat. A year of pain and missing Harry and knowing that he couldn’t fix it, as much as he wanted to. 

He’d started therapy in that year. They’d talked a lot about Harry—though of course Louis didn’t dare use Harry’s real name. He had caused enough damage as it was. 

And so Louis was working through his issues. He was learning to communicate. And every time he made a breakthrough, every bit of positive movement forward, didn’t assume the absolute worst about someone, he wanted to share with Harry. But he didn’t dare reach out. The slow and steady progress, the hard work of unraveling all his issues, that was his gift to Harry, even if Harry would never know.

***

“He’s going to kill me, you know,” Niall said, scowling over his Guinness. “He hates not being in on secrets.”

“I know,” Louis said after a sip of his own beer. He’d been surprised that Niall had said yes. “So thank you, again, for meeting with me.”

Niall took another sip, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

“So, how you been?” Louis asked.

“Louis. What do you want?” 

“I was just trying to be polite,” Louis said. He gulped down more beer. Liquid courage. “Should we get burgers too?”

“I always thought you were a good lad. Good enough for Harry, at least, which is all that mattered. But you and I aren’t exactly friends. So why don’t you tell me what you want.”

Straight to the point then. 

“I want to ask about Harry. See how he’s doing. Make sure he’s… okay.”

“No offence Louis, but you lost that privilege when you walked away from him.” Niall was a generally easy-going guy, the one friend of Harry’s that Louis didn’t think was a hanger-on and wasn’t using Harry for access to something. But Louis had forgotten that Niall was fiercely protective of Harry too and Louis respected that. Meeting with him was clearly a mistake. 

“I get that.” Louis picked up the napkin in front of him and ripped the corner off. “I think about him. A lot. More than is probably healthy, actually. But my therapist—I’m seeing a therapist now—she hasn’t said anything, so maybe it’s okay. Whatever. I… thank you. For meeting with me. I won’t bother you again.”

Niall was looking at him with a shrewd look that Louis made Louis feel uncomfortable. He averted his eyes from Niall to the pile of shredded napkin.

“I can’t give you any information about Harry, you know that. And if you were in my position you wouldn’t either,” Niall said eventually.

“Yeah. I know. I don’t really know what I was thinking. Last ditch effort or something.” Louis felt dejected. He’d known it was a bad idea when he’d messaged Niall up to meet, but had held out some stupid shred of hope that somehow things would work out in his favor. 

“Mate. You’re missing the point.” Niall shook his head.

“What?” 

“It’s not my place to tell you how Harry’s doing. But if you’re serious about this—and you better think long and hard before you attempt it because I will chop your bollocks off if you fuck him around again—I’m not the one you need to talk to.”

“Oh. You think he’d—”

“Did he or did he not tell you that you could find him when you got your shit sorted out?”

“He did.”

“Bloody glutton for punishment,” Niall muttered. “I don’t know what goes on in that boy’s head.”

“So I should—”

“I’m not telling you what to do. I know you’re a chicken shit who already texted me instead of him. I’m just reminding you what he said.”

“Got it.” The pile of napkin shreds fluttered as Louis exhaled. 

“I’m serious.” Niall drank the dregs of his beer. “I’m telling you mate, I’ve got no qualms about lopping your bollocks off if you hurt him again.”

“Message received. Loud and clear.”

And with that, Niall got up and walked away. Louis finished his beer, then two more, alone, weighing up whether he was ever going to get enough courage to say all he needed to say to Harry.

***

Louis watched from a kitchen stool as Luke set up his selfie ring light and positioned his phone on the tripod, attempting to get the perfect angle. Luke got into position and held up the product he was selling, a putrid smelling protein shake. 

“Do you actually like selling shit like this?” Louis asked as Luke watched the recording to see if it was in focus. Luke was normally so laid back it was cool seeing him in his element, even if Louis did see right through the silly scripts he had to read.

“I mean, it’s not the highlight of my day, but I can make fucking bank doing almost nothing so…” Luke gave Louis a cocky smile. “Might as well make it now while this pretty face is still worth something.”

Louis snorted and rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Seriously. I’ve seen your follower numbers. I can’t believe you’re not doing placements yet.”

Louis would rather gouge his eyeballs out, slowly, with a spoon, then do any of this. “Not my scene. But glad it works for you, mate.”

“But it’s like a cycle. The more ads you do, the more people will follow you, the more money you make, and the more people throw themselves at you. My DMs are fucking insane.”

Louis had considered putting his whole account on private but he didn’t post enough for it to actually matter. And it wasn’t like he was trying to become an influencer, unlike _some_ people in the kitchen. He just wanted a quiet life, someone to share it with—Harry— and the occasional pickup footie game in the park. Stability. Despite winning the prize money, he’d gone back to his job almost immediately. He had been looking for love, not for fame or money, like the other contestants.

“We were smart to ‘end things’ when we did.” Luke did finger quotes as though Louis didn’t help sell their fake break up story to the media. It was clear pretty early on in the villa that they were going to be great friends, so they paired up and rode that friendship to the end. But despite how it looked from the outside, it was never romantic between them. “All this attention? Who could resist all these strangers wanting to hook up?”

 _Harry._ Louis knew it down to his bones, could feel it in his soul. He’s done a lot of work to get to this point, to reason things out logically instead of going on past emotions. Harry wouldn’t be tempted. And even if he was, he’d never actually cheat. He’d probably stumble to some fresh air and call Louis right away, saying he was coming home. Louis' heart ached, again, for the home they could’ve had. 

“I’m getting laid like, every night,” Luke went on, oblivious to Louis’ feelings.

“Good for you.”

“Don’t be jealous, mate. You could too, if you wanted it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I know. You’re the only person I know who would actually go on that show thinking they’d find the love of their life, and then not even attempt to meet any of the people throwing themselves at you afterwards. Too bloody romantic for your own good.”

Louis groaned and put his face in his palms. “I’m not a saint. I’ve done dumb stuff.”

“Everyone has. One second.” He puts his finger up and then poses for his camera set up on the rig, running though his overly rehearsed, fake sounding lines. He takes a swig of the milky drink and then broods for the camera. “Okay. Lou, if you’re still hung up on that guy, the one you told me about while we were at the villa, just go get him. And I promise you, if he doesn’t want you, there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

“It can’t be that easy.”

“It might be. Go get him. What’s stopping you?”

“I want a quiet life. I don’t want all of…” he gestured toward the camera rig, “this. I don’t want fame. I just want a private life with someone who loves me as much as I love them.”

“And this person doesn’t want to give you that?”

“Um… it’s complicated.”

Luke dumped the rest of the shake down the sink and turned off the selfie light. “Doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like you know exactly what you want and you only have to find out if he wants the same. And if he doesn’t… compromise or walk away. Like with us! I want to bang everything I see while I’m still young, and you’re a grandpa who already wants to settle down. Love you, mate, but we were never going to work.”

“Never. At least I can pay for my sisters’ uni now.”

Luke put down his phone and groaned. “Please tell me you did something at least a little fun with the money and didn’t save it all for your family.”

Louis shrugged. 

“Oh my god. How you ever got cast for the show is beyond me.”

Louis watched as Luke uploaded the ad to his Instagram stories. He’d made a great friend out of the situation—as different as they were—and didn’t regret his time on the show at all. 

“Should we take a selfie?” Luke asked. “Our followers will go bananas if we post it.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Louis laughed. “And you better not take any sneaky pics of me either. My hair looks like shite.”

“Suit yourself,” Luke said, with a smile, already posing for his own picture. “I’m going to take a quick one, then I’ll be ready to smash you at FIFA.”

***

Between Louis working up his courage and Harry doing a few shows in Ireland, it took a little while longer for Louis to finally reach out. And when he did, it was probably in the worst way possible: standing outside of Harry’s gate like a creep, waiting until he got home. But he couldn’t risk not getting a text back and he barely picked up the phone to call his Nan, let alone having a potentially soul-wrecking call with an ex. 

An ex that he loved, and with whom he had a whole lot to discuss. 

He pulled his jacket sleeves over his hands to try to conserve heat since the sun was setting. The road was fairly busy but Louis didn’t realise anything was amiss until a car with tinted windows slowed down on its third pass down the road. The driver’s side window came down. “Sir,” the driver said.

Louis didn’t recognise him. “Yes?”

“You can’t loiter here.”

“Oh. I— okay.” Well that plan was ruined. The car started to pull into the drive and Louis was so embarrassed he was never going to try to get back in touch with Harry again. He couldn’t believe he had been scolded about being near Harry’s property.

But then the car came to a halt and out of one the back windows came Harry’s voice. “Louis?”

“Yeah. It’s me. But I can… I’m going to go.”

Harry’s hair was shorter than the last time Louis saw him but it still looked soft. Louis wondered if he still used the same shampoo that smelled amazing. “Oh. I— I didn’t see it was you. Your face was mostly hidden by your hood. And I have a st— You don’t care.”

“I do. I… I can go, though. If you want me to. But I was hoping we could talk.”

“Uh, yeah, just…” The window went back up and Louis stood there awkwardly as he waited for whatever Harry was going to say next. It sounded like there was an argument going on inside the car, but Louis couldn’t make out any words. He knocked on the window softly to say that he could come back another day, but then the door opened, instead of the window. 

“Give you a lift up?” Harry asked. 

“Okay?” Louis said, getting into the car and putting his hands in his lap. He didn’t know the other guy in the front seat either.

“Lou, this is Jeffrey, he’s my new manager. Sorry he was playing bad cop out there. And that’s Tommy, his business partner.”

“Are you sure I’m not interrupting? I could—”

Harry said “no” at the same time Jeffrey said, “Actually, you are.” 

The car was quiet as they went up the driveway, until finally Harry said, “Jeffery and Tommy are just dropping me off. I’m rescheduling the rest of our day until tomorrow.”

“I’m calling at 6am, sharp,” Jeffrey said. “We have to have a decision by—”

“I know,” Harry said, firmly. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

At the door, Louis and Harry got out, then Louis waited, feeling terrible, until Harry had a quiet discussion with Jeffrey at the window. 

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, unlocking his door.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m the one dropping in unannounced and ruining your plans.” He gestured to the organised shoe area by the front door. “Should I…”

“Guess it depends on how long you’re staying.” Harry was watching, patiently, as Louis tried to read his face, to gauge how happy he was that Louis was there. He toed off his shoes and left them next to all of Harry’s pairs. 

Harry kept his loafers on, and went further into the house, so Louis followed. “This is… really nice, Harry,” Louis said as he took in the house. It reflected Harry’s personality so well; quirky and bright, but also homey, that Louis wanted to sink down into the sofa and never leave. 

“How’d you know where I live?”

“Niall.”

“Oh.” 

They lapsed into silence then, as Louis looked at the art on the walls. 

“What do you want, Louis?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

Louis steeled himself for rejection. “About us. About what I was scared of. I want to apologise. I want to tell you what I want... and see if it matches what you want. I hope it does. And I hope you forgive me.”

Harry didn’t react, other than to say, “Then we better sit down.”

The sofa was just as comfortable as Louis imagined it to be and he pulled a throw pillow to his chest as he started talking.

“I really am so sorry. I know you deserve better than how I treated you, especially the last time we, uh…”

Harry’s cheeks turned a shade pinker and he said, “There were two of us there. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t wanted to.”

“I know. But I shouldn’t have left like that. I was just… I missed you so badly. It never got any easier, the pain from walking away, and I… it felt _wrong_ being away from you, but I kept telling myself it was the right thing to do. And when I saw you grinding on the dancefloor with someone that wasn’t me, I… it just about broke me. And I should’ve left and just dealt with it. That’s my shit. But then I gave into my instincts then ran away later.”

“Wanted to piss all over your toy so no one else could have it?”

Louis winced. “I deserve that.”

“Thank you, for being honest, I guess.” Harry was the most stoic Louis had ever seen him.

“I’m sorry for what I said last time, when you came over to mine. It— it wasn’t wrong, what I said, the way I felt, then, but, I know it must have hurt. You never, ever, gave me cause to think that you, specifically, would hurt me, and instead of talking to you, I pushed you away. It’s not easy, for me, to talk about my feelings.” Louis laughed humorlessly. “Obviously.”

“Okay,” Harry said, not giving Louis even an inch. 

“But I’m working on it,” Louis said, plowing on. He was determined to say it all. “Therapy is great for that. And for making me own my mistakes. And figure out how to build the life I want. Did you know that? That therapy isn’t just whining about your parents?”

Harry smiled, and Louis counted that as a minor win. “Yeah, I’ve heard it can be helpful.”

“So,” Louis took a big breath, “the thing is, I want you. I know you get to decide that if I get you, and it turns out that there’s a lot of caveats for me, because of what you do and my own shitty baggage. I do want you back in my life, I want us to get back together and really make a go of it, as scary as that is, but—”

“Why is that scary?”

“Because you’re a rock star. Because people will be throwing themselves at you all around the world. And I know. I do know that if you would be with me, you wouldn’t be interested in them, but it’s still scary. It’s still a risk. I trust you. But they make me nervous.”

“That’s a part of my job that isn’t going away anytime soon.”

“I know. But if you take me back, a big if, then I know I need to tell you when I’m worried or what I’m scared of, and I can’t have you blame me. Because I know it’s not you, but me. That’s on me. I just need reassurance that you’re not out hooking up with groupies. Maybe I’ll always need that, but maybe not. I hope not.”

“Okay.”

“And it can be lonely when you’re on the road. They were just small tours, back then, and it was a lot, missing you, but the missing you because I walked away was so much worse. So, if there was a plan, maybe, scheduled times when we can talk, so I don’t feel so needy, wanting you while you’re away, that might make it better. I know now how much worse it is, without you.”

“Tours are longer now. Different time zones. It won’t be impossible, but it will be harder, most likely, than last time.”

“Yeah. It’s weird, the two of you that exist in my head. One that’s my Harry, that loves watching romcoms and quiet nights in, and then the other one, that’s for all of them, that’s a literal world famous rockstar. It still blows my mind.”

“It’s still me. Both of those. Still me. Like, you: headstrong and forceful at work, kicking ass and taking names, loving life so fiercely. And then a scared little runaway that’s afraid of his feelings. That doesn’t think he’s worthy of a love so powerful that people all over the world sing along to his songs.”

Louis had listened to the records, enough times that had memorised every chord and lyric, and he knew which songs were about them. Their love. “I’m trying,” Louis said, weakly. It was true. 

“I can’t give up my career for you, Louis. I’m hearing what you’re saying, and I’m so happy that you’ve been seeing someone to talk through this stuff. But I can’t trust that you won’t run when it gets hard again.”

“I would never ask that of you. That’s why I left. I knew I could never ask you to choose. And I’m not going to run again. I promise you. I can’t promise that it’ll work, since I’m not psychic—it’d probably would’ve saved me a lot of pain if I was—but I can promise that I won’t disappear. That I’m willing to work on it.”

“Right.”

“And we want different things. I want a quiet life. Kids. Maybe a house in the country with some land to play footie. _The Sun_ not reporting on my every move.” 

Harry’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “That why you went on _Love Island_? For a quiet life?”

“I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea. Those were not the kind of people I was going to settle down with—even though some are good friends, now.”

Harry gave him a pointed look. “Luke didn’t want a quiet life?”

Louis snorted. “Definitely not. There was never really any romance there. I was too caught up on you and he was too caught up in the idea of everyone he was going to bang once he got famous.”

“I see.”

“He’s mostly a good guy,” Louis said, feeling the need to defend him.

“I doubt that. But. Whatever.”

“I think we can have that,” Louis said, trying to steer the conversation back to what he wanted. “There are plenty of people who live part of their life in public, then have a whole private life that no one else needs to know about. I would compromise, for you. Doesn’t have to be news everytime I, or you, ran to the shops for loo roll.”

“Compromise?”

Louis knew it was a risk for Harry to trust him, considering their history. “You do want that? Or you did want that?”

Harry’s green eyes bored into him. “I don’t know.”

When Louis' eyes searched Harry's face, he hoped it wouldn't be for the last time. "I wish I didn't need so much of you, but I do. Harry, I just want to be loved by you.” Louis knew he was a lot to deal with, and was asking a lot too. Louis stood up. He wanted to give Harry a hug, to end it on a more positive note, but he wasn’t guaranteed a third chance. There was nothing to do but let Harry think about it. “I’m too tired to be tough. My number’s still the same, if you decide I’m worth it.”

He left Harry on the sofa and slid his shoes back on. He opened the door and took a deep breath, then pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He didn’t actually think that it would work, but it still hurt, and he wanted to get through a cigarette and back onto the pavement before he started to cry. He flicked his lighter and breathed deeply, taking in the first hit of nicotine. 

Then his phone rang. 

Slipping it out of his pocket, he looked at the screen. Harry. 

He spun around on the doorstep, and saw Harry through the window next to the door, phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” Louis answered.

“Lou, it’s Harry.”

Louis choked out a watery laugh. “Yes. I know, I can see you.”

“Stay for dinner? I’ll cook your favorite.” His dimples were out in full force, with how wide he was smiling. 

Harry had cooked for him on their first official date, too. “You sap.”

Harry gave an exaggerated pout though the window. “Is that a no?”

“That’s a yes. Obviously. I’ve missed your cooking.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me for my culinary skills. I see how it is,” Harry joked. 

Louis dropped his cigarette. “I’ve missed a lot.”

They hung up, and Harry opened the door. Louis walked in, into Harry’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes.
> 
> [Here's a tumblr link if you enjoyed it, and want to reblog!](https://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/618463659019091968/lost-in-my-head-larry-explicit-125-klouis)
> 
> [Here's a twitter link if you enjoyed it, and want to retweet!](https://twitter.com/Lou_and_Haz_AF/status/1262812538938556418)


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